


Clarke's Journey

by clexasvevo



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Multi, Polis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clexasvevo/pseuds/clexasvevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This chapter occurs as soon as season 2 ends. Clarke has kissed Bellamy on the cheek, and walks off into the horizon.<br/>95% the 100 and 5% Game of thrones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Metamorphosis

Clarke had been walking for hours, maybe even days, but she had lost track. It was in her dehydrated and sleep deprived stupor that she collapsed on the forest floor. She crawled to the metal door of the bunker which had once housed her and Finn.  
She felt a strange disgusting kind of nostalgia in her. She crawled inside, drank some water and fell asleep.  
Nightmares plagued her sleep, and she cried and cried every night until she dosed off. Clarke rarely left the bunker. Days, weeks, months, who cared? The light never entered the door and so day and night bled into one. Clarke only moved when she felt she needed to turn over or drink or pee. There was a drop toilet out back so she didn't even have to leave for that.  
Eventually she had to eat. She found a rations bag they had left in there from their days at the drop ship camp, even some of those hallucinogenic nuts.  
Why not.  
Clarke saw vivid visions of her mother and family back on the Ark. She saw herself with Finn in the bunker, and at the post. She saw herself with Anya covered in bled out bodies in metal mining carts. She saw herself with Lexa hiding out from the pauma. She saw herself harming hundreds in Mount Weather.  
‘Clarke.’  
She looked up.  
‘Finn. You came back.’ Clarke raised her head from her slouched position sitting on the bunker floor.  
‘You’re deprived of oxygen Clarke. You haven’t smelled fresh air or felt the sun in weeks.’  
‘Finn… Go. Away.’  
‘You’re out of those nuts, so I will leave soon.’ Finn walked around the bunker tracing the lines of the furniture with his finger and looking around the place. ‘Take the art supplies from this place. Heck- take everything you can carry. There’s a pack under that shelf.’  
Clarke was delirious and did what he said without question. She took the pencils, paints, sketchbooks, a bottle, bandana and some other things. She pulled a black backpack from underneath the rusted orange shelving.  
‘Follow me.’ Said Finn. He walked over to the door of the bunker, looked up, and his body evaporated into the air. Clarke stepped and stumbled after him. She tripped over her untied shoe laces and hopped to the exit.  
Clarke emerged from the bunker, squinting in the sunlight, head throbbing in a terrible hangover. Finn was standing before her and offered his hand, pulling Clarke out of the hole.  
‘Follow me. I’ll lead you to Polis, Princess.’ Finn smiled. And with that, he walked into the forest, and his body evaporated into the sun rays beaming through the trees.  
Just like that, Clarkes mind had cleared. Her breath spiked and she looked at her hands, slowly analyzing her surroundings as if all that had happened was a dream. Clarke had been living under the ground for almost two months, and only as she stood from the dirt did she realize her clothes fit poorly and she had lost weight. She took the bandanna from her pocket and tied it around her head, holding back her hair. 

‘Time to go.’ She said to herself, suppressing her memories of her depressive hibernation, and clearing her mind to a fresh slate. She walked the way that her hallucination had showed her, trusting in her own intuition. As long as she was heading away from Camp Jaha, she trusted herself. Who else was there to trust?


	2. A turn of events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke heads out to find Polis- the grounder capitol where she secretly hopes to find a friend.

She stops sometimes to sketch; a strange bird, a tranquil reservoir, a fallen tree, an iridescent insect, ruins of stone. She sustains herself with berries, but only the ones she recognizes as edible as Monty taught her. Also the occasional squirrel if she was quick enough to catch it or clever enough to trap it.  
Clarke looks at the ground, watching her feet make impressions on the lush soil. Murmurs in trigedasleng come from a near distance. Clarke freezes and crouches behind some shrubbery.  
There are few words that she recognizes, but her trigedasleng isn't any better than an infants. She could at times guess what they were saying; their language had elements taken from English, after all.  
Finally Clarke decides she has the courage to take a look at these people. She hears the shaking of chains, kicking of hooves and assumes the possibility that she will be faced with a horse drawn carriage. This is technology Clarke had only read about in fairy tales. Clarke peers up above the shrub and balances her right arm against a tree. A carriage was right; a carriage of broken and dirtied prisoners. The carriage was followed by two rows of chained people, all on foot. There were maybe a hundred of them. Five men in armour accompanied them with spears and whips.  
Clarke wasn't sure where they were going, and decides it wouldn't be wise to follow them. She surely would be discovered.  
But she does. She follows them for miles, unseen and unheard of. She is tired, but they aren't stopping. Finally she hears a word she is familiar with; Polis. Clarke’s eyes light up and she listens close. Gibberish.  
A group of riders approach the group lead by a large and hairy pony-tailed man. Much to Clarke's luck they speak English. She remembers she was told that the warriors speak English, and she thinks to herself they speak it now so that the prisoners do not understand. She also reminds herself to be cautious with these people, as they are now confirmed to be dangerous.  
‘Where are you taking this group, Regon?’  
‘They are nomadic deserters of the planes. We are heading to the hill tribe. This lot will be slaves soon.’  
‘And what of Iannah?’  
‘Presumed dead, my lord. She has not been seen since the siege.’  
‘I expected better.’ The man paused, ringing his reigns in his hands and clenching his jaw in a bout of anger. ‘We are riding for Polis. Make sure the commanders and council of 12 do not hear of you.’  
‘Yes Lord York’ said the guard.  
‘Will you be passing the land of ice in your passage?’  
The guard nodded.  
‘Be careful of their queen. She is a cunning witch, and if he hears of the crimes of the hills clan he will without question want part of it. Onwards.’  
The man with the ponytail, a ‘Lord York’ rode away with his 3 men on dark brown horses with haste. These were dangerous things they talked of: a war, illegal slaves, crimes. All things Clarke did not want a part in.  
Clarke ducks back behind her shrub, making sure to keep quiet. The riders are heading to Polis and are too fast to follow. She will have to track them. She wasn’t completely incompetent at it, but it would be a challenge. It looked like they were staying on a track of sorts in the direction that Clarke had just come from, taking a fork to the left. Clarke was not disheartened by her change of direction.  
Once both parties were far enough, Clarke begins following the riders tracks. The hoof marks in the soil are easy enough to spot. She only steps twice before one of the guards of the slave carriage steps out from behind a tree after taking a leak. He sees Clarke, tripping her with a lasso and taking her captive.  
~  
Clarke is thrown into the carriage of the slave drivers, and her belongings are confiscated. She is secretly glad that she doesn’t have to walk anymore and the rocking of the carriage is somewhat soothing. Clarke looks out of the bars of the rickety wooden jail at her backpack on the saddle of the horse. There are several other people in the carriage, and five out of eight scare the living shit out of her. Clarke finally has the courage to look in the eyes of her cell mates. The one next to her looks almost exactly like a face she knew.  
‘Anya? Anya.’ Clarke whispers with some intensity.  
The person curled up next to her looks up and says some things in trig to her.  
‘I’m sorry I don’t understand.’ Says Clarke.  
‘English then.’ The familiar face smiles slightly and sits up straighter. ‘Anya was my twin sister. My name is Louis.’  
Clarke felt like she had been here before. Cramped in a cage, surrounded by people and Anya. Only it wasn’t Anya. Clarke felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t really crying, it was uncontrollable, like water from a broken dam. Her eyes wouldn’t stop.  
‘Do not cry! Please, tell me your name.’  
‘Clarke.’ She chokes out. She is almost laughing, as she is just so overwhelmed by his presence and their circumstance. This is after all, the first kind face she has seen in two months.  
‘You are one of the sky people.’  
‘I was.’  
‘I’ve heard of you! From my sister, from my village. You are a legend. You are a hero.’  
‘Anya is dead, and I am not a hero.’ Clarke looks down at the crusty carriage floor.  
‘I know she is dead. You do not have to poke at my wounds, I mean you no harm.’  
Clarke is taken back by this statement. In her time alone, she has become bitter and cold, unreceptive to kindness. She is not gentle and her edges are sharp. She feels the tears rolling again.  
‘You are a hero. You saved our people, you saved your people, and you eliminated the most dangerous enemy of the coalition. You toppled the mountain Clarke. You summited the mountain. They are calling you Clarke the conqueror.’  
Again Clarke weeped, and Louis put his arm around her.  
‘Thank you. You flatter me. But why are you in here?’  
‘Wrong place at the wrong time. I was a healer for my village until I decided to travel. I was making medicines for some of the banished people in the deserts. Then the thugs of the hills clan captured me as a slave. Not the smartest bunch, I could be of use to them as a healer, but instead I’m sure I’ll probably be used for cleaning or bedding. Who knows.’  
The wobbly cart shook and the two both rocked with it. Clarke winced at the thought of being used as a sex slave.  
‘Why are you so kind, Louis?’  
The terrain changed below the wheels from dirt to grass. They were now in grassy plains. The two sat in a warm silence, both relishing in the others presence. A mean looking guard gave them a hard look and shut them up. 

  
Soon, the sound of hooves on the ground had consumed the sound of the creaking chains and carriage. The group were surrounded by warriors on horseback with long dark hair and minimal armour.

  
‘The Dothraki!’ Louis exclaimed in a hushed tone. Clarke was unsure if he was worried or relieved.  
‘Don’t worry Clarke, the horse lords of the grasslands will save us.’


	3. Dawn til dusk

Louis spoke in a tongue unknown to Clarke.

‘Khal Drogo, let me introduce to you Clarke of the sky people, conqueror of the mountain.’ Louis repeated himself in English.

A large bare chested man with long dark hair faced Clarke on his horse. He had a scar on his left brow and a strong jaw. He was built, and Clarke knew that he could probably snap her like a toothpick if he wanted.

The Khal nodded and his expression looked as if he were impressed. Apart from that, he was very hard to read. Clarke was unsure whether announcing her title was a smart decision or not. She was sure she had secured many enemies after her feat.

Louis and the Khal talked as though they were old friends. They weren’t that warm to each other, but Clarke sensed a trust between them. Drogo entered his magnificent linen tent.

‘Drogo says he will escort us to Polis, if that is where you want to go.’ Said Louis as he approached Clarke.

‘If it is no trouble!' Clarke said gratefully. 'What will happen to the rest of these people? The captured slaves?’

‘He is freeing them. They will most likely return to the land of the deserters or find a new home with his clan.’

‘Where will you go?’ Asked Clarke, patting Louis on the shoulder.

‘I will go to Polis, with you. Then it’s Ton DC for me. I’ve missed my family.’

Clarke nodded and patted Louis on the back another time, reassuring their newfound friendship. She walked to the carriage, retrieving her backpack from the horses’ saddle.

She walked across the horse lords’ camp and to his tent to feast, meeting his eyes once. They both nod to each other as a sign of respect. She stuffs her face as if she hasn’t eaten in a hundred years. She does not remain polite in front of the Khal, in fact his people eat quite messily themselves. Clarke is satisfied. She later walks around camp, making small talk with anyone who speaks English.

Clarke lay by the fire in the centre of the camp, keeping to herself and curling by a log. She hugged her backpack as she dosed off, and she slept a long and deep sleep. She did not dream that night.

~

Khal Drogo had given Clarke her own horse and they had been riding for a day on the soil track in a group of twenty. He was a man of few words, but he had made an effort to joke with Clarke a few times. They saw some squirrels humping each other and a footman stepped in a large pile of dung. Drogo would point and laugh, looking at Clarke. Clarke would smile back sympathetically. Drogo let Clarke ride up near the front beside him. Louis trailed not far behind.

‘Drogo says you are very beautiful. If he didn’t already have a wife, and if he were a younger man, he may ask you to marry him. Perhaps you could marry one of his children’ Said a young girl riding near Clarke. Clarke and Drogo both chuckle at this translation, Clarke is slightly horrified but in a humored way.

‘Don’t worry Clarke’ said the girl. ‘The Dothraki are honest people and tend to overshare.’

‘You are not Dothraki?’ Asked Clarke.

‘No, I am from far away. Not worth talking about really.’ Said the girl, dark curly hair bouncing as the horse trotted.

‘Me too.’ Said Clarke.

They rode from dawn til dusk through the trees. Finally the forest cleared, and the group set their eyes on a great city nestled inside a great crater. There was a body of water by the main city and the buildings flowed into the sea.

The buildings were magnificent, mostly stone built and wooden abodes. There were ribbons of soft linen covering some of the streets and decorating the air. Ropes and pulley systems embellished the sky and people in baskets in harnesses travelled along them. There were birds, and there were people, and there was colour and life. From the top of the crater, you could see the whole city and the magnificent stone building that stood in its centre.

‘Lexa was right’ Clarke thought to herself. She hadn't even set foot in the city and she was already in love with it.  

~

Their descent into the city was steep and scary on horseback, but the horses seemed practised and calm, and managed to correct any misjudged footing.

They rode through a central street, lined with sand brick houses and paved with stalls and children running around. A sweet music filled the street and Clarke's eyes widened in awe and excitement.

‘This is amazing! The city is beautiful!’ Clarke raised her hand above her head to touch the magenta dyed silk strung across the lane. Their party split, and Louis took Clarke to get something to eat. The sun had set and the city lit up with lights and night music. They ate in a great hall enclosed within a market and Clarke tried many fruit and treats she could never have dreamed of. Two exotically dressed men enter the hall, followed by an entourage of people bearing food, flowers and gifts, humming with chatter.

‘Are you married Louis?’ asked Clarke over the dinner table.

‘I was once, yes. Have you ever seen a grounder wedding, Clarke?’ Clarke sensed Louis did not want to discuss his private life. And she shook her head as her mouth was full of food.

‘Come with me tomorrow to see one, okay?’ Louis smiled and took a sip of the cider in his cup.

‘Yes that would be amazing!’ Clarkes eyes lit up with joy.

~

Clarke had stayed the night at Anya’s aunts’ house. She was a kind woman of no English, and she made her a bed in the guest room. The house was made of sand stone bricks and was as sturdy, tall and decorated as the other ones in the street. Clarke fell asleep to the warm hum of candle lamps by her feet. 


End file.
